


What Fine-Spun Thread

by MagicMarker



Series: Figrid Drabbles and One-Shots [7]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Proposals, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Courting Rituals, Crushes, Cultural Differences, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Traditions, Everybody Lives, F/M, First Crush, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Gift Giving, Human Traditions, Kissing, Marriage Proposal, Pining, Prompt Fill, Romantic Fluff, So many tags, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Traditions, and have i mentioned fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMarker/pseuds/MagicMarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Many thanks to my darling beta readers, <a href="http://mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/">mrsmarymorstan</a>, and <a href="http://postapocalypticstarlight.tumblr.com/">postapocalypticstarlight</a>.  Their help was invaluable and their quick turn-around was astonishing, so go check them out on tumblr.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Hope you enjoyed reading!  Let me know via kudos or comments, or you can find me <a href="http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com">here on tumblr</a>.   Thanks so much!</p></blockquote>





	What Fine-Spun Thread

_**“Tis sweet to feel by what fine-spun thread our affections are drawn together.” - Laurence Sterne** _

Fíli sat at the table in his uncle’s office, sifting through mountains of envelopes. Each time he picked one up a handful more skittered towards the floor. Keeping these organized was an exercise in futility. He heaved a sigh as yet another seven notes fluttered down around his feet. 

“I’ll not be having any of that, laddie,” Balin tutted from the other side of the table. “This is your birthday feast and you’re not going to just sit around while the rest of us do all the work to prepare it. Now keep marking down the responses, or we won’t have enough to eat.”

“I just don’t see why we had to have a feast at all, Master Balin,” Fíli sighed again, shifting in the uncomfortable chair. He turned another piece of paper between his fingers - cousins from the Blue Mountains he’d never even met. “It’s just a birthday. There’s nothing special about ninety. I’ll have ninety more.”

“And then some, Mahal-willing,” Balin answered under his breath. Louder, he added, “But Crown Prince Fíli, son of Dis, heir to the throne of Erebor has not had one _here_.” Balin made a sharp mark on his parchment and tossed a reply into a bin behind him. “You know this is the first remotely special occasion to come around since we’ve got our feet under us. It’s just timing, laddie, nothing personal.”

That didn’t make it better. 

Fíli turned back to the stacks and slid open response after response. The ‘accepted’ pile loomed staggeringly larger than the ‘declined’ pile, which perhaps should have been flattering but instead left him feeling anxious. He didn’t know these people. What did they care that he’d managed to stay alive another year? Why would they want to come halfway across Arda for a bit of dinner and dancing?

He knew the answer, actually, and it had nothing to do with him. Fíli had long suspected there were several who just wanted to snoop around and see what kind of job Thorin had done restoring the Mountain. It was pure gossip, that was all. Well, let them come. Erebor was beautiful again, rebuilt to be even more majestic than it had been, and he’d be happy to show his home off to a hall full of busybodies.

The seal on the next letter caught his eye and gave him pause. The wax was blue instead of the much more popular red, and the symbol was a bird in flight, clutching an arrow in its feet. Lord Bard. Fíli flipped the letter over and smiled to see Lady Sigrid’s more feminine handwriting on the address. It seemed Bard was entrusting more and more to her as he learned he couldn’t do everything himself. 

Fíli slid his knife under the wax and popped the seal open, smoothing the folded paper open on the small patch of table not covered with other envelopes. Sure enough, Sigrid had written to say that she, her father, and a handful of other delegates from Dale would be delighted to celebrate with him. He snorted. Surely the delegates had no reason to be ‘delighted’ at all; it was just an opportunity for them to feel important. Bard and Sigrid, though... He had grown rather close to the two of them over the past few years. Rebuilding two kingdoms ravaged by dragonfire was no small task, and their teamwork had been quite welcome.

In fact, ever since he’d first met Sigrid in her Lake Town home, she had never ceased to impress him. She may have had no training in weaponry, but her level head and resilience had saved his skin twice before the dragon fell, and a few more times since in communications (and miscommunications) between King Thorin and Lord Bard. Sigrid always seemed to understand him in a way his uncle never had. It was…nice, sometimes, to have an ally like that.

Fíli reached for the parchment marked _Men_ and checked off Bard’s name with the total number of delegates Dale was sending. Too bad Bain and Tilda couldn’t come as well, though Fíli supposed that Bard knew best. Oh well. One down, one thousand more to go.

As he continued working, he let his mind wander back to Dale and Lady Sigrid. Perhaps he should write her directly to thank her for coming. Was that premature? That was probably premature. It would be better to tell her in person when she arrived. Hopefully he would be able to steal a few minutes with her, just the two of them. They hadn’t had much time together to just talk in a long while. Balin had mentioned having music and a dance after the dinner, that would be nice. A good excuse to devote his attention only to her. 

That is, if she wanted to dance with him. His stomach sank even as his hands kept working. Perhaps she just didn’t dance. How would he know? It had never come up. Perhaps she did like to dance, but would prefer the men in attendance instead. For some reason the thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Balin, I’m taking a break,” he announced, the legs of his chair screeching as he pushed away from the table. “I er, I have to clear my head.”

“Whatever you say, Fíli,” Balin replied absently. “Just be back in ten minutes. These eyes are getting too old to finish the job myself.”

Fíli left the office without a word. He needed a good stiff drink before he’d be able to face that room again. That’s all, just a shot of the good stuff and a bit of fresh air, and he’d be fine. 

~*~

It was sweltering in the ball room. Hundreds of torches dotting the walls gave off a ton of heat and the great tapestries hanging everywhere soaked it up, making the temperature rise. It was awful, not to mention the rather too-many layers Fíli was wearing. A bead of sweat escaped from under his coronet and he resisted the urge to wipe it away. A few hundred people were here to watch his every move, to see what kind of person the heir to Erebor had turned out to be. 

Balin hadn’t told him, in all the weeks of preparation, that he would be expected to sit there in front of all of Arda and accept gifts from everyone. He must have known that Fíli would find it ridiculous. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to watch that sort of thing. When Balin explained it was just as much about watching Fíli as it was watching everyone else, Fíli couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling; Mahal, but people were petty. It had earned him an earful but changed nothing. He had to do his duty.

Now the line in front of him still stretched to the other end of the hall. It was mostly dwarves, but the men from Dale were not alone either, and a handful of elves had made the journey as well. They’d brought him a fair number of weapons, some fabrics and furs, and bafflingly, a good amount of gold as well. As if anyone in Erebor needed any of that. But Fíli had done his duty and graciously thanked party after party, Balin whispering their names in his ear as he went. He would take the gift from them, compliment it somehow, and pass it off to Kíli who passed it off to some servant, over and over again for what seemed like forever.

So into the rhythm of it was he that Fíli hardly even realized Bard and Sigrid when they approached with another man and woman from Dale. 

“Prince Fíli,” Bard said, a bit stiffly. Fíli didn’t take offense; Bard was always this way in public appearances. “Congratulations on the anniversary of your birth. I pray the Valar grant you with many more, and may your beard never grow thin.” The dwarven greeting stumbled across his lips but without reacting Bard offered up a dagger, wrapped in a piece of cloth. 

When Fíli had it in his hands he could see that the blade was in fact a long, sharp tooth. The dragon’s? The look in Bard’s eye confirmed it. “I give you many thanks, Bard, son of Brand. What a fine gift. I’m so pleased you could join us this evening.”

When Sigrid stepped forward with a small box in her hands, Fíli felt a new wave of heat flush the back of his neck. What was coming over him? Must be the torches. Someone really ought to hang some mirrors in here so they could use less fire next time. He swallowed thickly and smiled at her. “Hello, Lady Sigrid.”

“Prince Fíli,” she beamed, and offered her token to him. “A very happy birthday to you.”

He took the thing between both hands, then turned it over, examining all sides and the bottom. All the blood drained from his face, his overheated skin now running cold. Behind him, Kíli coughed. 

“Well, this is awkward,” Fíli muttered under his breath, finally breaking his resolve to run his hand over his face roughly. Then, just a bit louder, he asked, as kindly as he could, “Did you make this?”

Sigrid’s face flushed red, uncomfortable. “I-- yes. I just wanted to make you something nice for your birthday, that’s all.” She crossed her arm over her chest, twisting the fabric at her elbow between anxious fingers. Bard was looking at them curiously; Kíli watched with wide, bright eyes, trying to school his smile into something more gracious. 

In fact, everyone was watching. The hundreds of eyes on them fell like a weight across Fíli’s shoulders. All the air in the ball room was still, every dwarf (and half the elves) holding their breath to see what he would do next. Including him. He noticed Sigrid frowning; she probably thought he hated it, or hated her. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, no longer meeting his eyes.

It wasn’t that the wooden box wasn’t beautiful. It was gorgeous walnut, well-crafted, with leather strap hinges. There was a charming geometric design around the edges and a rough recreation of the Lonely Mountain on the front. It was just the right size to hold all his hair ornaments, or perhaps the strop and stone he kept for sharpening his blades. 

Only, right there, on the top of the lid, was the blocky rune that came first in his name. And sure enough, on the bottom was a small ‘S’ to sign the work. He ran his thumb over the roughness of the carvings, and he imagined he could feel each stroke of her knife into the wood as she’d crafted his name. And hers. She had done a fine job indeed. She must have spent a lot of time working on it.

Fíli was sure no one else could really see, but everyone had guessed. Sigrid of Dale had just offered him a proposal of marriage. On his birthday. In front of the entire assembly. Clearly Sigrid had no idea what it meant to give him a handmade gift with both of their names on it.

He was surprised at how much he wanted to keep the little thing.

“Thank you, Sigrid,” he coughed out at last, and pushed the box into Kíli’s fumbling, unprepared hands. “This is… truly a lovely and generous gift. My deepest thanks to you.” He pursed his lips as he picked his next words carefully. “I’m looking forward to our future, ah, discussions.”

She looked up at him then, eyebrow raised, but quickly smoothed her features back over into the serene smile he noticed she only used at court. “The pleasure was all mine, Prince Fíli.” With a quick curtsy, Sigrid was off to her seat next to her father and the rest of the delegation from Dale.

The rest of the assembly was twittering excitedly, surely noting the fact that he hadn’t rejected her offer outright. Thorin fixed him with a pointed stare, and Fíli gave the slightest inclination of his chin. Yes, he had some damage control to do. But should he acknowledge what had happened, and play the move off as the ignorance of a daughter of men? Sigrid would be so embarrassed, she’d probably never come back to Erebor again. That wouldn’t do at all. Besides, he couldn’t throw her under the cart like that.

His other option was to pretend nothing had happened at all, and work things out with Bard and Sigrid behind the scenes. After all, surely this was just an accident. Surely once he explained, she would understand and take the box back. People would forget in a few months. After all, when no marriage was announced, they’d assume they were wrong and move on with their lives. 

Yet the idea of spending his days with her wasn’t as terrifying as it should have been. 

The vision came unbidden, the two of them together in Erebor, growing old side by side (albeit at rather different rates). Her radiant on their wedding day, flowers in her hair. Him swelling with pride as new life grew inside her. A firm hand closing over his as he took the throne.

Fíli coughed and shook his head just a bit to clear the image from his mind. Where had it even come from? There were only a few groups more, he could do this. When the last gift had been carried off, he absently called for dinner to be served, hoping to distract the crowd while he took a moment to think. Never in his entire life had he thought he’d be the one to receive the marriage proposal. Whenever he’d imagined the occasion, it had always been him doing the asking. 

Of course, he’d also always imagined asking a dwarf. For pity’s sake, in all their time spent together, how had he never told Sigrid about the _one_ courting ritual dwarves had? He knew all about how men courted! ...Mostly. Fíli stole a glance at her only to find she was watching him. They locked eyes longer than he had wanted, and despite the inconvenient situation he found himself smiling at her. 

No, spending his days with her wasn’t terrifying at all. Fascinating.

“Shall I send for Mum?” Kíli murmured in his ear. “She’d have a cow if she missed your upcoming nuptials.”

Fíli shoved his brother aside and took a long drink from his wine glass.

“Look at ‘er, Fí, she doesn’t even know what she’s done. That’s just cruel.”

He shook his head. “I can’t tell them here, in front of everyone. That’s crueler.”

“Perhaps, but it’d be done.” Kíli paused, and his face slowly lit up. “Unless… You’re not saying no.”

“I’m not saying I’m not saying no.” 

Kíli just shook his head and tucked into his dessert. 

~*~

Some time later, Fíli was out on a balcony trying to get some fresh air. Away from the bustle and the noise and the hundreds of eyes watching his every move, it became clear what he had to do. He had to tell her and Bard as soon as possible what had occurred, and then the two of them and Balin and Thorin and Fíli could fix it. No other guests would be the wiser; it would be fine. That was the best way, hands down.

Stars twinkled lazily overhead as the cool breeze dried the sweat at his temples. Fíli pushed his coronet up higher on his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair, still trying to cool off. He’d find a way to pull them aside discretely; that was surely the best action. Sigrid hadn’t any idea what she had done, and to hold her to it would be unspeakably atrocious. She’d be miserable, and so would he.

He pulled at his robes, trying to get the air flowing through them. Someone would call him back soon, no doubt. Sure enough, soft footsteps approached behind him, stopping just past the open door. 

“Prince Fíli?” Sigrid asked just loud enough to carry.

“My Lady Sigrid,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. “I was just about to come and find you.” When he turned to look at her, his heart jumped into his throat. Framed by the torches on either side of the door, her bronze hair shone like the brightest gold. The little pins she’d stuck here and there glittered like so much treasure, and her cheeks were beautifully rosy, flushed by the heat of the ball room. His smile turned genuine despite himself. Even under these circumstance, just being with her made him happy.

“I, uh. Hello.”

“Hello,” she answered shyly. She took another step towards him and breathed in deeply. “Oh it’s so much more pleasant out here. No wonder you’ve been hiding away.” 

“I haven’t been hiding.” The words rushed out of him petulantly. “You certainly found me easily enough.”

“Ah yes, my mistake.” 

Sigrid made her way next to him and leaned on the rail of the balcony. “Listen, Fíli, I’m sorry if I accidentally gave you any offense earlier this evening. It was certainly not my intention, and if you’d kindly explain what happened I can assure you it will never happen again.”

Fíli couldn’t stop the chuckle from bubbling out of him. “No, I don’t suppose it will.”

“Hey now, it may be your birthday but there’s no need to be rude!” She crossed her arms over her chest and jutted her chin out. Now her nose was getting pink in the cool air. The stray hairs at the nape of her neck were curling, sweat-soaked, and a passing rush of air made her shiver. “You never even opened it!”

“Well, I-- What?”

“The box I gave you.”

“There’s… something inside it?” Fíli was blindsided. There was another gift, inside the original gift? Did the wonders of men never cease?

Sigrid huffed. “Well you’re just going to have to find out later I suppose. Though given the strange way you reacted to the box it came in, I’ve half a mind to go take it back from you.” 

Well, there was no use waiting. She’d given him the opening. “Lady Sigrid, please let me explain.”

Arched eyebrows were her only response.

Fíli groaned and rubbed his hands over his face again. “All right, see, the thing is. Um. The thing. Is.”

“Yes?”

“The thing is, you see, that you made that box.”

“I did.”

“Yourself.”

“Yes.” 

“And you put both of our names on it.”

Sigrid pursed her lips. “I put your _initial_ on it, because it’s _yours._ And then I put my _initial_ on it, on the bottom. So you can remember me by it.”

“It’s the symbol that matters-- Wait, what do you mean, ‘remember you by it?’ Are you going away?” His heart clenched in his chest.

“No! Well, I mean,” Sigrid sighed. “Maybe? I’ll be going home after this, obviously, and I mean…” She shifted from foot to foot, arm crossing over her chest again to play with her sleeve. “I can’t stay in Dale forever, I’ve got to... I’ll have to get married, you know, eventually.”

Fíli winced. She was planning to marry off soon after all, only not to him. The thought was more painful and more hilarious than it had any right to be. Despite the ache in his throat, a laugh bubbled out of him. How ironic that she’d set the plan into motion, and had no idea. “Ah, well the thing is, you see, that you made that box. With both our initials on.” It was the only thing he could think to say.

“Yes Fíli, I’ve got that part. Just spit it out already!” Sigrid’s eyes were suddenly stormy, all discomfort forgotten as she turned her temper on him. “I can tell by now that I’ve done something bizarre or forbidden or _something_ and I’d really like to just know what the blazes it was so I can apologize and we can move on with our lives!”

“Well Lady Sigrid, I wouldn’t worry about moving _too_ far away, because you proposed marriage to me in front of the entire assembly this evening.” The declaration hung in the air, sickly-sweet as rot.

The breeze tossed the loose hair framing Sigrid’s face as the two of them stared at one another silently. She pushed them back behind her ear and licked her lips. “I did what?”

Fíli adopted a sing-song tone as he explained. “When a dwarf loves another dwarf very much--”

She rolled her eyes.

“--and wants to spend the rest of their life with them, they make their beloved something special out of wood, or stone, or metal. They put their names together on the token, carven, so those names can never be erased. Words have power, especially if given to another, so, the dwarves will be together forever.” He smiled despite himself. “It’s said that even dragonfire cannot destroy a token given to someone by their One.” 

“But it’s just our initials.”

“The symbol’s always ever been what mattered.”

“It isn’t even _our_ initials, it’s your initial, and then also, in a different place, my initial.”

“Even so.”

“Everyone knows?” Sigrid leaned back against the railing, defeated.

“Everyone guesses,” he answered gently. “Only Thorin, Balin and Kíli saw the bottom.” Fíli covered her hand with his. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to it. You didn’t know, and... It would be beyond cruel to expect you to follow through and marry someone you weren’t, that you don’t…” He coughed and pulled his hand away. “Well. I couldn’t, anyway.”

Sigrid was quiet again, facing out towards the plains at the foot of the mountain. Her mouth was twisted to the side, something he’d always noticed she did while thinking, but she didn’t seem as upset as he’d thought she’d be. He tried not to interject; all the words in his head were jumbled up anyway. 

He didn’t want to marry her. Except, he did. Maybe. If she wanted to?

She was strong-willed and clear-headed and incredibly talented at diplomacy in a way Fíli could only ever dream; he was certain she would be a fantastic ruler someday. On top of all that, their friendship was easy, helped in no small part because she always knew what he was meaning to say even if the words didn’t come out right. Even though she’d never grow a beard, she was undeniably beautiful. She practically sparkled when she laughed. Every time he saw her his day got a thousand times better, and if he were honest with himself he’d admit that for the past year or so he had used any reason at all to cross paths with her. Now whenever he tried to think about his future, she was in it.

Was this what it felt like to find your One?

The thought frightened and thrilled him. He honestly hadn’t given it much thought before now. But could a person be your One if she didn’t feel the same way? His nose prickled and his throat constricted threateningly. What would he do? It wasn’t like a dwarf to marry for convenience yet it was also his duty to continue Erebor’s ruling family. Could you have more than one _One?_

He turned away from her slightly, just enough that she wouldn’t be able to see the extra shine in his eyes. Well it wasn’t as if his life had ever been easy. Fíli would find a way to do both. He could keep her in his life, as a friend, and he could do his duty. It was what he was good at, doing his duty.

“So let me get this straight.” Sigrid’s soft voice cut through his thoughts and he turned back towards her. She was picking at the hem on her sleeve as she spoke, though her voice was steady. “There wouldn’t be a, say, a courting period?”

Fíli struggled to catch up to her line of thought. “I-- What?”

“After giving the gift, does the wedding and whatnot all happen right away?”

“I-- No, not necessarily. Sigrid, what are you saying?”

She looked down at him and smiled uncertainly. “Well, like I said, I’ll have to be married eventually. I can think of worse things in the world than being married to you.”

Fíli laughed wryly. “Thanks. But if we don’t love each other, we really shouldn’t. That’s not how it’s done. Mostly.”

“I’m wounded, Prince Fíli!” Sigrid put her hand on her chest. “You don’t love me?”

“I--” Doubt tingled across the back of his neck. “I don’t… know yet. Are you saying you--?”

“I don’t know yet,” she echoed. “But you’re one of my dearest friends. So, I think I could. In time.”

“We have time.”

They stood there grinning at each other for a long moment before Sigrid reached over and swatted his chest. “But you still never opened the damned box.”

“Oh!” Fíli reached into his robes and produced her gift. It was even more beautiful in the dim evening light. “I had Kíli give it back to me so no one went snooping and started gossiping. Not that they weren’t already gossiping...” 

“Go on,” she urged.

He thumbed the lid off and gasped. Scrunched up inside the box was a pair of finely knitted gloves. He picked them up and discovered soft leather pads on the palm and a tiny apple embroidered just inside the cuffs. He bit back a smile. She knew how much he loathed them; he’d gone off about it one day between trade talks. It was just like her to tease him like this. “Sigrid…”

She smiled wider then. “They match the scarf you stole from me way back when.”

“Stole? You gave it to me.” He pulled one glove onto his hand. It was a bit tight across the palm and a bit long in the fingers, but she’d done marvelously. 

“Whatever. You needed it then but you never gave it back. It’s yours now, if you even know where it is.” Sigrid nudged him gently with her elbow. “And I noticed your gloves never have any fingers, but you won’t get away with that this year. It’s going to be a rough winter, everyone says.”

“You really didn’t need to… to do all this.” Fíli pulled the glove back off and put them both back in the box, running his fingertips over the smooth wool one last time before closing the box again.

“Well, consider the gloves your birthday present, since apparently the box is your courting gift.”

“Fair enough. Now we’d better go find your da and tell him what you’ve done.” Fíli grimaced. Of all the ways to end a birthday.

Sigrid shrugged, and led him to the door back into the ball room. “It won’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done, I don’t think. He’ll probably just laugh.”

Fíli sure hoped so.

“Besides, we’re in this together now.” 

As he pulled his coronet and robes back into place, Fíli let himself smile one last time. Together. With Sigrid. 

It sounded wonderful.

~*~

Finally, finally, Fíli and Sigrid were permitted to leave their wedding feast and sneak up to the new quarters they would share. The ceremony, dinner, and dancing had all been lovely, but he had been awake for sixteen hours now, smiling the whole time. Fun as everything had been, it was time to get some rest. 

It was clear Sigrid felt the same. When they’d entered their rooms, she had gone immediately to her vanity to pull all the decorations from her hair, grumbling with every pin. While she was distracted, Fíli searched under the bed for a small package wrapped in a cotton handkerchief. Right where he’d left it. He padded back over to her and watched her for a moment. Her face was scrunched up as she picked her comb through a particularly nasty tangle, and the thought struck him for the hundredth time that day: he was so lucky.

“Happy Wedding Day,” he murmured, and pressed a gentle kiss to her bare shoulder as he set the gift in front of her.

“Oh, Fíli... “ Sigrid picked at the knot of fabric until it fell open to reveal a small wooden box. It was walnut, crafted with every ounce of care Fíli could muster, with leather strap hinges. There was a delicate floral design winding its way around the edges, and a rough recreation of the Lonely Mountain on the front. It was just the right size to hold all her the ornaments already scattered across the surface of her dresser. And right there, on the top of the lid, was a big elaborate ‘S.’

Sigrid flipped the box over and gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Fíli, you softie,” she teased, though her voice was laden with emotion. She set the box aside and twisted around to face him. Her hands caught his face and she rubbed her thumbs over his beard, searching his eyes for a moment before surging towards him to capture his lips with hers.

She was eager and he was unready, and their teeth knocked together a bit, but before either of them could go any further, she pulled away. The kiss was over too soon, though it was worth it to see his new wife beaming up at him, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. 

“You never even opened the box,” he joked weakly, licking the taste of her off his lips.

Sigrid’s eyes widened. “I-- what?” She groped behind her and grabbed the box, flicking the lid open without a second thought. When she saw what he’d put inside, she closed her eyes, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek.

He smiled and brushed the track of wetness away. “You said how many times that there was no gift-giving in men’s courtships, and I believed you. But your father ratted you out. He’s the one who told me about rings.”

“That bastard,” she sniffled, and picked up the delicate gold band. 

“Here.” He took the ring from her and slid it onto her finger, then brought her hand to his lips. 

“I love you, Fíli,” she whispered. Her smile was dazzling in the candlelight.

He looked at her for a moment, taking it all in. Her eyes were red, and her hair all a mess, but his heart swelled. Tears of his own prickled behind his eyes. Fíli never would have thought it would happen, but it pleased him beyond words that he could honestly reply. 

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my darling beta readers, [mrsmarymorstan](http://mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/), and [postapocalypticstarlight](http://postapocalypticstarlight.tumblr.com/). Their help was invaluable and their quick turn-around was astonishing, so go check them out on tumblr.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading! Let me know via kudos or comments, or you can find me [here on tumblr](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com). Thanks so much!


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